Last Picture of Man
by Darkfire7881
Summary: A small one-off based on a challenge between myself and IanOtter. When mankind is on the brink of extinction, what else is there to do but stare death in the face and show your defiance?


**This was a challenge done between myself and Ian Otter. The challenge was to take a random and unrelated image, and make a one off story based on it. The images used are the cover photos for this story. Ian has done one for Command and Conquer, and I obviously have done one for Halo. The rules are simple, make a story loosely based off the image. Could be short or long, serious or silly.**

**Hope you guys enjoy this fun little story, and if you want to take the challenge, message me or do it with your friends.**

**Earth**

**Sol System **

**2552**

The dull morning sky was lit up by the occasional blue flash, indicating a plasma mortar strike. A few seconds later the ground would shake from the impact. The super-heated balls of death had been raining down upon the UNSC position for almost two hours now, as the alien forces of the Covenant were having some difficulty breaking the stubborn human bunker. One would assume the threat of a direct hit would cause the soldiers to feel fear, and it had at first, but the sensation had died away quickly and had been replaced by boredom.

The four men in the concrete pillbox were sitting in silence, a pleasant sense of melancholy settling over them. Sergeant Tom Goodman sat with his back to the firing wall, his BR-55 rifle resting across his lap, and a sketch book in his hands. Goodman was busy drawing away as the others kept themselves busy by doing other things. Privates Corban, and Torreto were passing a cigarette back and forth, perhaps the last one they had, hell, maybe the last one of Earth for all he knew. Corporal Dark was sitting on the opposite wall, staring at the ceiling.

It was a miserable bunch of marines, but with an unstoppable enemy banging on your door, it was hard to be positive. The only thing keeping Goodman sane was his sketch book. It was a gift from his late father, a rarity to have real paper books as most people used holographic displays. It was filled with various drawings he had done since receiving it for his 16th birthday, two years ago. Of course, no one knew he was only 18; everyone thought he was 25. It turned out, watching your homeworld be turned to glass by an alien fleet could really age a kid. Of course, he doubted anyone really cared at this point in the war. The recruiting officer certainly didn't when Goodman had marched off the refugee ship and straight into the recruitment office.

Goodman flipped back to that page, having quickly drawn out the recruiter's face as he went through the paper work. A haggard face, one that had seen nothing but death, a man who had seen the Covenant play their hand at godhood by visiting biblical wrath upon mankind. It had been the face of a man who had lost his will to live. Goodman could only hope his own face did not mirror that expression.

A particularly close by plasma burst caused the men to leap into action. They quickly grabbing their weapons and set themselves up along the embrasures. However they all immediately relaxed when they noticed the Covenant Wraith tank was still a far ways off in the distance, past the twisted wrecks of Scorpion tanks and Shortsword bombers.

The men returned to their mundane activities. Corbin and Torrent were now talking quietly to each other, while Dark had returned his attention to the ceiling, his MA5B assault rifle leaning against his shoulder. Goodman just picked up his sketch book and resumed drawing, a picture he had aptly, albeit morbidly, named the _'Last picture of Man.' _It was a simple drawing of a human skull, with bright red drops of blood falling from its mouth. A message to any Covenant bastard that would find it and let them know that Humanity would die fighting.

"They're coming." Dark stated as he stared up at the roof.

Goodman didn't bother to ask how he knew, he just grabbed his rifle and assumed his spot in the line, joined quickly by the others. Not even a minute later the base commander began shouting orders over the comms.

"_Covenant forces inbound! All units prepare for combat! We will not break, not while we still draw breath. Remind these alien bastards who's the dominant species!" _

It was a rousing speech to be sure, but Goodman didn't care. Instead he patted his chest pocket to make sure his sketch book was safe, then aimed down his scopes and waited until the Covenant were in close. For despite their advanced technology, the aliens of the Covenant had an odd obsession with running head first into battle.

"On my mark, open fire. Remember to conserve ammo, and aim for the big ones: Elites and Brutes. Leave the little ones for the auto turrets." Goodman ordered to his men, all of them older than he.

"Think we'll win this one?" Corbin asked.

"We won the last two times." Torrent replied.

"Don't matter if we win. We die and we take as many of them with us. We kill so many that the Covenant will never forget Mankind."

The men remained silent. Maybe they felt motivated, maybe they didn't. Goodman was never any good with speeches. But it didn't matter, as the Covenant hordes were quickly descending upon them. Goodman found a Brute Minor and aimed for his head, then counted to three before simultaneously firing a three round burst and shouting out.

"Open fire!"

His burst caused the Brute's head to explode, causing its large, furry body to collapse to the ground. The others opened fire with their assault rifles, tearing through the thick hides of the Brutes, or causing the Elites' shields to flare up. Other pillboxes surrounding the bunker also opened fire, while the auto turrets quickly turned the Grunts and Jackals into minced meat.

Goodman fired his final burst, which bounced harmlessly off an Elite's shields. He quickly reloaded and found himself with only two magazines left. They hadn't been resupplied since the last attack, leaving his men dangerously low on ammo. Goodman just sighed and kept shooting, opting to ignore Elites and aim for Brutes, as they seemed to lack shields.

The Covenant were quickly closing in on the base, as they scrambled over the corpses of their comrades. Goodman loaded his final magazine, and shared a grim look with his squad mates. This was undoubtedly going to be their last stand, but Goodman didn't feel sad: he was ready to face death.

The Covenant had just reached the next threshold when several Warthogs that had been kept in reserve leapt out from behind the base walls and drove out into the enemy mass. Heavy machine guns cutting them down like a scythe through wheat, while the drivers ran over any enemy unable to jump out of the way. It was a suicide run, but it had definitely given the enemy pause.

"All out!" Corbin shouted.

"Me too!" Torrent added.

"Then pull out your sidearms and keep shooting!" Dark hissed angrily.

Goodman followed his Corporal's advice, dropping the spent battle rifle and pulling out his magnum. Given the pistol's limited range, he gave up aiming for important targets and instead shot at whatever was nearby. He took some small satisfaction watching the smaller Grunts flail and cry out in pain as limbs were shot off. It was possibly sadistic- no it was most definitely sadistic- but no sin Humans committed during the war could ever be overshadowed by what the aliens had done. So Goodman took his satisfaction in killing the enemy, and even began deliberately aiming for arms or legs, intent on causing the enemy pain rather than outright killing them. However his brief spark of pleasure was crushed when the radio came to life with the sounds of men screaming in agony, and a bone chilling warning.

"_Drones__! They're coming in from above! They're flooding the bunker! All units…gah! Die__you freaks!"_

The radio went abruptly silent, and before Goodman could react, the door to their pillbox exploded inwards. The four men immediately turned to face the new threat, but Dark was shot instantly, a hole burned through his helmet and into his skull. Corbin and Torrent both managed to kill several Drones as they scrambled inside, forced to walk instead of fly in the cramped space. But they too fell as they were pumped full of plasma. Goodman was the last to go down, killing three more before being shot several times in the chest.

He collapsed to the ground as white hot pain coursed through him. The Drones didn't even bother to finish killing him, instead, they quickly exited the pillbox and flew away on their insectoid wings. Goodman was left alone, cold and dying on the floor as men and women died around him, surrounded by the corpses of his friends.

Goodman did the only thing he could think of and pulled out his sketch book. He ripped out the final page, the _'Last picture of Man.' _He added a few more drops of blood with his own, then left the picture where anyone could find it.

A final act of defiance in the face of extinction.


End file.
